


Getting the Milk

by tepidspongebath



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Established Relationship, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega/Omega, Omegaverse, Unplanned Pregnancy, no really this is some pretty weird stuff and I'm sorry, past Sherlock/Irene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1403173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tepidspongebath/pseuds/tepidspongebath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21697.html?thread=127901889#t127901889">this prompt on the kink meme</a>: <i>Omega!Sherlock is pregnant. Due to their constant close proximity, Sherlock's pheromones cause Omega!John to also display some pregnancy symptoms, namely brooding urges, horniness, and lactation. Sherlock gets slightly worried by the fact that while John is letting down milk nonstop, he, the one who actually needs to, has yet to produce a single drop. John assured him that it's probably diet related, and offers to help provide Sherlock with what he needs for the baby... by breastfeeding Sherlock.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting the Milk

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, yes, I was on the kink meme because I was stuck and couldn't make any of my WiPs progress and was looking for a jump-start of some sort, and, this happened, and no, _of course_ my first crack at omegaverse wouldn't be about anything sane and normal, like heats and knotting and unresolved sexual tension. This was written fast and nasty, with only a passing nod to things like sense and biology, and I thought I was going to a special hell for the tentacle porn, but apparently my brain can do worse. 
> 
> This is, in short, some pretty weird shit, and I understand that some of it can easily squick people out, so please read the tags before going on to the text. 
> 
> ...and I'll just scamper off and hide now.

It started with a tenderness in his chest, around his nipples. John didn't give it more than a passing thought, merely rubbed at his chest and went on tidying the flat, because the discomfort was only mild (as compared to, say, being shot in the shoulder by a military-grade weapon), and, what with Sherlock Holmes being pregnant, it was the least of his worries.   
  
It wasn't anything they'd planned, and, honestly, up till a week ago, John would have said that he'd never met an omega less likely to carry a child to term than Sherlock. He had the biology for it, yes, but he didn't have the temperament: on a bad day (a  _good_  day, from Sherlock's point of view), the consulting detective could give any alpha a run for his money. He hated his heats (though he and John had shared a few enjoyable ones, simultaneously), deplored the idea of settling down, and, in a most un-omega manner, would knock down anyone who tried to make him think otherwise.  
  
And yet. Sherlock had left on a case, and he was away from 221B for much longer than he originally intended. His supply of heat suppressants ran out, apparently, and, with almost no warning, he'd gone into a full-blown heat right on Irene Adler's doorstep. And then they'd had sex - filthy,  _desperate_  sex, and she'd knotted him over and over again during the course of a week, and he'd quite happily gone along with it. In fact, he'd stayed quite happy about it, being sure that they'd used the appropriate contraceptives despite being caught in the, ha, heat of the moment, until some mysterious prompting of his anatomy had made him buy a pregnancy test and it came up positive.   
  
He had told John, of course. It was rather a hard thing to hide when he'd been found with his pants off in front of the bathroom sink, shouting at the little plastic wand that it had to be _wrong_. They went through several more pregnancy tests, a visit to an ob-gyn, and several more shouting matches (most of which had to do with the fact that Irene Adler was still alive and that Sherlock was still seeing her) before they sorted out 3 things. Firstly, Sherlock was definitely keeping the baby - neither of them was in favor of an abortion. Secondly, the next time Sherlock went to Irene, he was to tell John. (For his part, John understood the demands of an omega's biology - he had them too, and there were just some things that he and Sherlock couldn't do for each other, even if they were in a committed relationship  _but_  it had been A Bit Not Good for him to see an alpha behind John's back. John always told his partner when he needed to spend a heat with one of his military friends, and there was often an open invitation implied. It had hurt to learn that Sherlock hadn't extended him the same frankness over Irene.) Thirdly, they were going to do this together, and  _it would work_ , never mind what conventional social norms would have them believe.  
  
So with all of that on his plate, John was prepared to ignore his own aches and pains to help Sherlock get ready for the baby (it was too early to tell if it was a boy or a girl). He was also prepared to tamp down his feelings over Sherlock looking so damnably  _fuckable_  lately - he put it down to the glow of motherhood or some such. It wasn't until two wet spots began to form on his shirt, directly over his nipples, that he realized just what was going on.   
  
Sherlock's pregnancy hormones (and pheromones) were catching, and John, susceptible omega that he was (and especially susceptible to anything that had to do with Sherlock Holmes), was manifesting some of the symptoms. It all made sense, really - his frenzy of tidying, for instance, had been nesting behavior, and not just flatmate-ly concern. If only he'd started lactating somewhere other than a crime scene.

Some of Lestrade's officers stared, until he started to glare back, and he zipped up his jacket to hide the wetness that was beginning to soak the front of his shirt. Sherlock, however, had gone on looking at John askance, even as he rattled off that the murderer was a 6'3" female beta with a degree in advanced mathematics, a French bulldog, and a stainless steel mechanical pencil.   
  
Back in the flat, John had a job of cleaning up. His shirt was sodden, his jacket was damp, and his nipples were still positively leaking. He stood in the bathroom, stripped to the waist, pressing a towel to his chest because a gentle pressure to the nipples was supposed to stop him letting down milk. It wasn't all that effective, and he was wringing the towel out, contemplating the unpleasant reality of having to buy some of those absorbent pads when Sherlock came in.  
  
"I'm not - doing that yet," he said, handing John another towel.   
  
John regarded him carefully in the mirror. Sherlock was wearing his dressing gown and nothing underneath that, and from the way it was hanging open, it was all too obvious that he'd been examining his own mammary glands. His nipples were small and pink and his chest was as flat as it had ever been (not that growth and enlargement of breasts was prominent in lactating omega males), in stark contrast to John's dark nipples and areolae, which (yes, he saw it now that he was paying attention) were rather larger than they used to be. John didn't think that you needed a medical degree to see that it would be quite some time before Sherlock started lactating, but the consulting detective still squeezed in next to him so that he could have a good look at his right nipple while he pinched and rolled it between finger and thumb. It got a little redder, and maybe a bit harder, but it remained dry for all that it was Sherlock who was actually carrying a child. The set of his expressive mouth told John that he was worried, and, perhaps, even affronted that this was so.  
  
"Well, with the way you're eating-," John began, then stopped, because, with the baby on the way, Sherlock  _had_  been eating well. He was, after all, anything but stupid. "With the way you  _ate_ ," he said instead, "I'm not too surprised. You didn't exactly take care of yourself until the pregnancy test. It might take you a while to start producing milk, but it's nothing to worry about. In most cases it doesn't start till the third trimester, and," he added, his eyes raking over Sherlock's mostly flat stomach, "you're nowhere near that."   
  
And of course, now,  _now_ , standing nearly naked next to John, Sherlock refused to listen to what was only simple logic and basic physiology. He fretted and fussed, long fingers tugging nervously at his dark hair, biting on his full bottom lip, and, looking at John in a helpless way that was altogether too appealing to be legal, he whimpered.  
  
The sound seemed to sizzle through the air, and it zinged straight from John's ears to his cock, and, unless he was very much mistaken, he was starting to feel a telltale dampness in his nether regions as well.  
  
Oh, yes. Horniness. That happened too.

John swiped the towel over his chest, feeling the terry cloth drag over his now very sensitive nipples. Sensitive and slightly sore, and he was having to come to terms with the fact that in addition to the pads, he'd probably have to get a breast pump too. And he glanced at Sherlock, who was frowning at their reflections, looking at John's chest with downright envy, his lush lips curved downwards into an exceptional pout. The man really did have a lovely mouth.  
  
It was then that John Watson had an idea, and if it was Sherlock's pregnancy hormones that were making him think it was brilliant, well, he could live with that.   
  
"Look," he said. "If. If it'll make you feel any better you can have my milk. If you like."  
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "I suppose you expect me to thank you, but that's a very long-term view of things. You said it yourself, the due date's a long way off."  
  
"I don't mean the baby." John swallowed nervously. Though brilliant, he was starting to acknowledge that his idea was maybe a tiny bit on the weird side, but he couldn't rescind the offer if he tried. "I mean you."  
  
"You want me to -  _oh_."  
  
"Yeah, I mean, it'll probably be good for you, and it'll keep me from leaking all over the place, and...and..."  _And it's going to be fucking hot, that's what._  John took a steadying breath, dropped the towel, and faced his partner. "I understand if it's not something you're into, but I could really use some help with this right now."  
  
Sherlock's eyes swiped down John's body to the bulge at the front of his trousers. "The lactating, or your cock?"  
  
"They're both your fault, you know."  
  
"Mmm." Sherlock reached out, and delicately touched a fingertip to one of John's swollen nipples. It felt alarmingly good, and felt was even better when he pressed down, and John almost shouted with frustration when he took the finger away to put it into his mouth.   
  
"Well?" John asked, demanded, pleaded, and Sherlock hesitantly moved forward and bent down to put his lips around John's right nipple.   
  
It was glorious, and a relief, and utterly erotic to feel his milk spill into Sherlock's mouth as he sucked, and he fell back against the bathroom wall because he didn't think his knees could hold him up any longer. Sherlock swallowed the first warm mouthful then shifted so that he could undo John's trousers and palm his erection through his pants.   
  
"Oh God," John gasped as Sherlock continued to suckle, breathing through his nose so that he didn't have to let up. "Oh fuck," he groaned, when Sherlock fisted his cock, moving his hand in time with the drag of his lips and the hollowing of his cheeks. And if he said anything when he came, he wasn't aware of it, lost as he was in the exquisite suction of Sherlock's mouth and the tortuous pleasure of his hand. He didn't think that he'd ever had such an intense orgasm outside of a heat.   
  
Sherlock pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his clean hand. "Would you like me to do the other one?" he asked, all innocence.  
  
It was all John could do to keep himself from grabbing Sherlock and smashing his face back against his chest.


End file.
